


Falling

by nakymatonlapsi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mentions of Substance Abuse, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:24:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakymatonlapsi/pseuds/nakymatonlapsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sherlock feels like he has never stopped falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Sherlock.
> 
> This isn't beta-read so please point out mistakes you find. Enjoy!

Sometimes Sherlock feels like he has never stopped falling.

He feels like he is still in free fall and has been ever since he said his last damned ‘Goodbye John’ that day on the rooftop of St. Bart’s. He has been falling while John stood at his grave begging for ‘one more miracle, Sherlock please’, the one he couldn’t give him, and he fell when Sebastian Moran’s blood stained the walls of one abandoned fabric building in Poland and also his hands. He was falling while the blood of so many others followed and when it became impossible to wash away the bright red all over his hands no matter how hard he scrubbed. He was still falling when he saw the blurry CCTV images of John leaning heavily on his cane, limping along Baker Street.

He was falling when he dyed his hair first blonde, then auburn, then maroon. He was falling in jeans, and fatigues and jerseys and jumpers (worse than ever in jumpers) and he was falling while he called himself Peter or Andrew or Jean. He was falling in Poland, Germany, France, Hungary and everywhere else.

Sherlock was falling faster than ever when Mycroft mailed him pictures that showed John with the blonde woman in her white dress, kissing, sealing their vows of love, ‘till death us do part’. (And he had wondered if John had ceased to love him, for he had died after all and death had parted them and John was free and he was a dead man walking and he was alone. Not that they had ever made vows. Not that they ever would.)

He was falling alone in somber little hotel rooms and in crowded train stations and in airports. He was falling when he couldn’t sleep for days and he was falling when he forgot to eat until his habits caught up with him and he was so weak he could barely stand. He was falling when he thought and he was falling when he wasn’t smoking because John wouldn’t approve and John was the only guide Sherlock had. He was falling while he was high because _John was not there and what did it matter when Sherlock had nothing left_ and he was falling while he came crashing down worse than ever. He was falling while he hit bottom.

In every waking moment, he sees John’s face, his pained eyes, hears his desperate, pleading words and he spreads his arms and is falling.


End file.
